


Drunken Kisses and Flights of Stairs

by karcathy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: And Then Some, College AU, F/F, humanstuck AU, yeah it's kind of a humanstuck rewrite of the drunk rose thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcathy/pseuds/karcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knocking herself out wasn't exactly part of Rose's plan to woo Kanaya, but it seemed to work anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Kisses and Flights of Stairs

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a request on fanficstuck.tumblr.com, go there to request more homestuck fics :)

It’s finally happening. You’re finally having a sort-of date with Kanaya Maryam, the girl you’re almost certainly head over heels in love with. You’ve put on your nicest dress, and you’re now waiting in your dorm room for her to arrive. On the other side of the room, your brother is at his computer, headphones in place, playing with his music, or whatever it is he does. You can hear him rapping under his breath as you take a slurp of your drink.

“Damn,” he says, and you think he glares at you, although it’s hard to see his expression under those sunglasses, “Do you have to drink so loudly? You’re messing this up for me. I can actually hear you through my headphones.”

“Well, I can hear you rapping through your whisisperses,” you reply, not quite sure how to stop saying whispers, and ending with a hiccup.

“Oh, god,” he says, “You’re totally pissed. How strong did you even make that shit?”

You examine the mug of experimental alcohol, which you may or may not have brewed in a shed off campus.

“Pretty shtrong,” you say, shrugging, “I guesh?”

“Jesus, Rose,” he says, shaking his head, “What did you use? Rubbing alcohol?”

“That’sh an exaggeration. I’m completely fine.”

You try to point emphatically at him, but your hand gets a little lost on the way.

“Dude, you can’t even point straight. This seems like a serious abuse of your chemistry set.”

You just shake your head, trying to look as sober as possible.

“At least say you mixed it up in a bathtub,” he says, taking off his headphones and setting them down on the table.

“Damn,” you say, feeling genuinely upset you hadn’t thought of that, “I mished a great opporti-opportuna-opportunity there.”

“By the way, where the fuck’s my apple juice?” he asks, “Or were you too busy making dangerous and illegal alcoholic drinks to remember me?”

“I did try!” you say, pouting, “I tried, but it’s hard, you know? I couldn’t even find any... what’s its... apples.”

“Bullshit.”

You just roll your eyes, then take another sip of your drink.

“You know, Dave,” you say, “Apples. Apples are really... They’re like... It’s like they’re the symbol... of all the thingsh... the thingsh... You know?”

“Man, this is weird. You’re a scary drunk, Rose, you know that?”

“Uptight for a cool dude, aren’t you?” you tease, swaying slightly, “Come on, try shome.”

“No thanks.”

“Psssh. Prune.”

You think about it for a moment.

“Prude,” you correct yourself, giggling.

“I’d rather not poison myself with experimental alcohol, you know?”

You snort into your drink, and take another sip.

“I thought you didn’t like mom’s drinking, anyway?”

You shrug.

“I forgave her,” you say.

“Why get wasted tonight?” he asks, “Nervous about your date with Kanaya?”

“Wait,” you say, “It’sh a date?”

“Yeah?”

“What makesh it... a date?”

“Rose, you’re wearing your prom dress, and you’re nervously drinking your brains out.”

“I don’t need to be going -hic - on a date to... to dressh... nice.”

“Oh my god, just admit it already,” he says, rolling his eyes, “This is so a date.”

You take another sip, hiccuping.

“You should probably reschedule,” he says, eyeing your mug, “You’re not exactly in a great state for a first date.”

“No, no, no!” you say, shaking your head vehemently, “I’m fine. I’m great.”

“Come on,” he says, getting up, “Let’s get you- Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“She’s here.”

You look up to see Kanaya standing next to you.

“Oh.”

“Good evening,” she says, looking slightly confused and more than a little concerned.

“Oh my god,” says Dave, looking like he’s about to start laughing, “This is too much.”

“Oh,” says Kanaya, glancing at your dress, “Should I have worn something a bit more...”

“No, no!” you say, “You look great!”

“Well, uh, okay. If you think so.”

“You started the drinking way too early,” whispers Dave, “Your date’s going to be the worst.”

“Shut up!” you hiss back, “It’s not a date!”

“Rose, are you feeling okay?” Kanaya asks, sounding concerned.

“I’m feeling fabuloush,” you reply, attempting to make an expansive gesture and failing slightly.

“Ah,” she says, “You’ve been imbibing experimental alcohol.”

You just hiccup. Loudly.

“Well. That would explain it.”

“Explain... what?” you ask, pulling a confused face.

“Your failure to complete our rendezvous in a timely manner.”

“Our wha- Wait.”

“I waited in the common room for a couple of hours, but you did not turn up, so I came to see where you were.”

“I...”

You trail off, thinking.

“Oh. Oh... Oh my god, Kanaya, I’m sorry.”

You start to panic.

“I forgot our date!” you all but shout, clenching your fists in your hair.

Burying your face in your arms, you attempt to hide from the situation.

“Our date?” Kanaya says, “Then... This was intended to be a romantic situation?”

“Everyone’s smooth tonight,” says Dave, sounding slightly amused, “Yes, Kanaya, this was a romantic date thing.”

“I’m so sorry!” you say, your voice muffled by your arms.

“But I don’t think Rose is sober enough for a date right now,” Dave continues, “You’re probably better off waiting for another time.”  
“No!” you say, sitting up, “I said I’d do it! I’m not going to – hic – blow this!”

“Well...” Kanaya says, “I’m still open to an evening of... Whatever this is.”

“Great,” you say, standing up slightly shakily, “Then letsh... go for a walk.”

“Are you sure you can- Whoa, steady there,” she says, taking your elbow as you try to take a step and nearly fall over, “Okay, if you’re all right... Let’s go, then.”

You make your way unsteadily out of the room, and start walking down the corridor, with heavy assistance from Kanaya.

“Well, seeing as your own plans for this evening far exceeded mine,” she says, letting you shake her off and navigate by yourself, “Inasmuch as you took the effort to put on fancy clothes, I was wondering what you had in mind, as far as specific activities are concerned?”

“Nope!” you say, grinning cheerfully and using the wall to stop yourself falling over.

“Nope?”

“I didn’t really have any-ny plansh for the evening,” you say, attempting a shrug, “Except for the pretty dressh. And bein’ punshual... Oops.”

“It’s okay,” she says, “I admit I was a little irked at first, before I realised how unlike you this was, and that extenuating circumstances must be in play. And then I found you and these circumstances are certainly very extenuating.”

“I’m very exten-exshten-thing right now,” you say, giggling.

“Yes, you are,” she says, smiling.

You pause for a moment, listening.

“Hey, shh,” you say, waving a hand at her, “Listen.”

“What are we listening for?” she asks.

“Um,” you reply, tilting your head, “Nothing, I guesh.”

You pause for a moment, gathering your thoughts.

“I think... I think we should go for a walk. And a talk,” you say, making a concerted effort not to slur any of your words.

“That would be nice,” she says.

“So,” you say, slowing down as you reach the stairs, and carefully stepping down onto the first step, then pausing.

“Yes?”

“Can you keep a secret?” you ask, in a loud whisper, looking around furtively.

“Yes.”

“I think...” you say, still checking for eavesdroppers, “I think that Terezi... And Gamzee... are... you know.”

Kanaya looks suitably shocked.

“You shee,” you continue, “I saw him earlier... ier...”

“You did? Where?”

“Never mind that,” you say, shaking your head, “Anyway, the short and the long and the short of it is, him and Terezi are a thing. Thing. You know? Secretly.”

“Are you serious?” she asks.

“Absolutely positive,” you reply, trying to sound less drunk than you feel, “I think it could cause... probble... lems.”

“Right. Well. I’m not sure...”

“You’re good at thish sort of thing, aren’t you?” you ask, “Sortin’ out relation... things.”

“I guess,” she says, looking uncertain.

“Do you think you could... teash me?”

“I don’t think I’d be very good at that,” she shakes her head as she replies, “It’s probably best to leave it.”

“Oh,” you say, pausing a step below her and turning to face her, “Well... I think...”

You lift one hand up to her face.

“Maybe you could just...”

You inch closer to her.

“Teach me this...”

You close the gap between you with a sloppy, drunken kiss, and promptly lose your balance, falling down the stairs.

 

Thankfully, you lost consciousness at that moment. The next thing you know, you’re waking up on your sofa, Kanaya hovering anxiously over you, and feeling marginally more sober. You groan as you remember what happened.

“Oh, god,” you say, lifting your hands up to hide your face, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Kanaya asks, looking concerned.

“I’m fine. I think. Oh, god, I can’t believe I did that.”

“It’s all right.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say, peering through your fingers, “Really, I’m sorry.”

“Dude, stop saying you’re sorry,” Dave says, appearing in the doorway, “I think she’s cool with you kissing her, falling down the stairs and passing out. Seriously, that was a totally smooth plan.”  
“Shut up,” you say, glaring at him.

“No, really,” Kanaya says, “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I screwed this up, didn’t I? I got drunk and I kissed you and then I fell down the stairs and passed out. There’s nothing fine about this.”

“Everything is fine,” she says, gently pulling your hands away from your face and making you look at her, “Are you sure you’re okay? You did fall down quite a lot of stairs.”

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” you say, sitting up and wincing.

Gingerly, you feel your limbs, and realise you’re probably going to end up with a lot of bruises.

“Ugh,” you say, lying back down and deciding you don’t want to move for a long time, “Well, this was probably the worst date ever.”  
“At least the kiss was good,” Kanaya says, sitting on the sofa next to you, “I mean, until you fell down the stairs. And apart from the drunkenness.”

You laugh, then stop when it hurts your bruised ribcage, wincing.

“Do you need anything?” Dave asks, still in the doorway, “Ice? Bandages? A condom?”

“Very funny,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“What do you even do for bruises?” he asks, “Is it ice or heat? What do you put heat on?”

“You put ice on them,” you say, sighing, “But I don’t particularly like the idea of lying in a bathtub full of ice cubes. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think any of them are too bad,” Kanaya says, carefully examining one on your upper arm.

“Ugh, I need more alcohol,” you say, closing your eyes, “Possibly to drown the memory of acting like a total idiot tonight.”

“I don’t think alcohol would be helpful,” she says, still holding your arm, “It seems to have been the root of the problem.”

“Good point.”

You grimace, trying to shift into a more comfortable position.

“Remember, kids, drinking is bad,” Dave says, and you look up to see him still standing in the doorway.

“Are you still here?” you ask.

“Evidently, yes,” he replies.

“Can you not be here, then?”

He tuts and rolls his eyes, but leaves.

“Ow,” you say, changing position again, “Everything hurts.”

“That would tend to be a side effect of falling down a whole flight of stairs,” Kanaya says, and you laugh even though it hurts.

“This is not how I wanted this evening to go,” you say, wincing as your bruises throb.

“Generally getting very drunk is not a good way to make sure your plans work out.”

You nod ruefully, and examine your arms, which are beginning to go black and blue with bruises.

“I think I’m getting a headache,” you say, closing your eyes again, “This was definitely a really stupid idea.”

“I think I could take your mind off of it,” she says, and you force yourself not to giggle, still feeling tipsy, as you open your eyes to see her leaning over you.

“I think I’d like that,” you say, smiling.

She leans down and kisses you, then slightly ruins the moment by putting her hand on one of your bruises.

“Sorry,” she says, pulling back and lifting her hand off of your stomach.

“It’s fine.”

She kisses you again, and you find that it really does take your mind off of the pain. Idly, you wonder why that is.

“I think I should sleep,” you say eventually, pulling away.

“Good idea,” she says, standing up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you make it a question, and wince as you sit up, “Preferably after the hangover wears off.”  
“Maybe the day after, then?”

“Tell Dave to call you when I wake up,” you say, putting your feet on the floor and mentally steeling yourself for the walk to your bed.

She says goodbye, and leaves the room. Outside, you hear her talking to Dave. You hope he doesn’t ask too many invasive questions.

 

When you wake up the next day, you’re aching all over. You think your head probably hurts most, but it’s a tough call. Glancing at the clock, you see it’s six in the evening. A long lie-in, then.

“Ah, good morning,” says Dave, appearing in the doorway and seeing you’re awake, “Well, good evening. Can I get you anything?”

“Water,” you croak, “Painkillers.”

You pause for a moment.

“Kanaya.”

“Glass of water and some painkillers coming up,” he says, “Although I think you should probably shower before I call Kanaya.”

You nod feebly and close your eyes again.

 

He returns with the glass of water and two paracetamol, and you sit up. You swallow them, then get out of bed and head for the shower. Fifteen minutes later, you’re clean and dressed, and feeling marginally more awake. The painkillers are starting to kick in, and you feel slightly less like your head is being mined for gold by particularly eager dwarves.

“Have you called Kanaya?” you ask, walking into the living room with a towel on your head, and wondering whether you feel well enough to blow-dry your hair.

“Just did,” Dave replies, glancing away from his computer, “The towel turban’s a good look. You should definitely keep it.”

“They’re all the rage these days,” you reply, taking it off and rubbing your hair into an approximation of dry, “You should try it. It might make you cross the boundary into actually unbearably obnoxious.”

You go back into your bedroom and examine your arms. Some of the bruises are already beginning to fade into yellow, but you still look like you’ve been beaten up by a large gang, which you think some people probably wouldn’t be surprised to hear. Getting beaten up by the stairs, you decide, is only marginally preferable. You also decide that if anyone asks, you’re going to say the stairs beat you up, and neglect to mention the involvement of any alcohol. Sighing, you grab a cardigan, and check that the neckline of your dress covers most of the bruises on your chest. You think you’ll probably be wearing tights and long sleeves for a while.

 

When Kanaya arrives, she insists on checking up on your bruises, and repeatedly asks you how you feel. Mostly, you ache all over.

“I’m never picking a fight with a flight of stairs again,” you say, pulling the sleeve of your cardigan back over your forearm, “They don’t fight fair.”

“Avoiding alcohol would also probably be wise,” Kanaya says, nodding solemnly.

“Alcohol and stairs are a particularly bad combination.”

You sit next to each other on the bed in slightly awkward silence, and you wonder whether you can work up the courage to kiss her without the influence of alcohol.

“So I think we should probably kiss,” she says, “Without any stairs or alcohol present.”

“I think so too,” you say.

You lean in and kiss her awkwardly. You’re sitting side by side, so the angle isn’t exactly comfortable, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do with your hands. Twisting around further, you put them on her waist. She slips her arms carefully around you, trying to avoid touching any of your bruises. She fails, but you don’t really care. You shift around and sort of sit in her lap, your legs on either side of her. You press forward into the kiss, and accidentally push her down onto her back. She doesn’t object. You’re just thinking you should probably move into a more comfortable position when you hear a cough from the doorway.

“What?” you ask, sitting up and turning around.

“Just thought I’d tell you I’m ordering pizza and you haven’t eaten all day,” Dave says, leaning against the door frame, “Want some?”

You look down at Kanaya, and realise you actually feel famished.

“I could eat some pizza,” she says.

“Okay,” you say, turning back to Dave, “We’ll have a large margherita, then.”

“And a bottle of coke,” adds Kanaya.

Dave leaves, and you go back to kissing Kanaya whilst you wait for your pizza.

 

By the time she leaves that evening, you like to think you’ve gotten pretty good at kissing. By the time your bruises heal, you think you’re probably an expert. And the next time you get drunk, you make certain to avoid stairs, especially when kissing Kanaya. Kissing Kanaya is something you do a lot. Getting drunk, not so much.

 


End file.
